


Passion Among the Palm Trees

by tangentiallyTJ



Category: The Hard Problem - Stoppard
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangentiallyTJ/pseuds/tangentiallyTJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike, behavioral scientist and the perfect model of Darwinian man, gets more entangled with a woman than he intends and hopes for resolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passion Among the Palm Trees

“You’re overdressed.”

Elizabeth eyed him as she stated the obvious. Spike stretched out on the massive chaise lounge in the living room of their condo, champagne in hand and a smile on his face. He was still in long sleeves, trousers, and socks. Not to mention the shoes, on the furniture--strictly not allowed and he knew it. But they were on holiday, so rules be damned.

The champagne was a clear indication of Spike’s attitude. He’d arranged for champagne on ice, waiting for their arrival, as part of their welcome to the rented condominium. Champagne at midday. The next week was going to be free from their orderly day-to-day life.

Elizabeth got trembly inside when she saw the bottle in its fancy ice bucket and the two champagne flutes. A light, airy condo with palm trees peeking over the edge of their third-story balcony, a beautiful view of the coastline and hills, a climate so unlike home she didn’t know what to expect, and finally this. Freedom. Celebration.

Anarchy.

It unnerved her.

Like a nautilus outgrowing her shell she’d stretched herself time and again through Spike’s influence, walled away her old, too-small life and reached for something bigger. He was her first adult romance, her first lover after Allan, the husband she’d met early and tried to keep long after he’d left her in everything but name. The husband who’d grown up next door to her and shaped the way she thought about intimacy and responsibility and expectation. The husband who’d fallen for her because she was a caregiver--raised from childhood to put others ahead of herself--and he’d needed someone to care for him.

She had been Allan’s first, and he had been hers. Their love life had been part of the comfortable routine that had made them feel secure. Elizabeth had given herself and it had been mostly pleasant, a kind of bond between them to strengthen the other bonds. When that bond, along with the others, had been broken, she hadn’t really missed the physical intimacy.

Then Spike dropped into her life and parts of Elizabeth turned hungry that had never been hungry. Suddenly she missed sex, but not the sex she knew. She missed what she’d been told was romantic fantasy, and she feared the fantasy was real but she wasn’t equipped to have it. Something in her must be broken, or she would have experienced the fantasy by now.  

Elizabeth’s fear had made her bold; she’d accepted Spike’s invitation to join him for a private drink after the library fundraiser they’d both attended. Casino night, with tuxedos and formal gowns, and Elizabeth showing much more skin than usual in her borrowed dress, had been a complete success for the library. It had been a mixed success for her, a garnering of flattering but unwelcome attention until Spike’s hazel eyes had lit up with appreciation as he looked at her.

Their private drink had led to her apartment and the kind of kissing Elizabeth had only read about. Spike’s hands on her skin had made her blush and shiver at the same time, and he had quickly come to understand that she was unacquainted with the casual hookup. Spike wouldn’t push and she couldn’t ask, so Elizabeth had feared her hungry parts might never be satisfied. Finally she’d gotten her courage up and talked about sex. Blushing terribly, she’d asked if he minded that she’d only been with one man and hadn’t really enjoyed sex that much.

“That’s your man’s fault,” Spike had said. And, with her permission, he’d shown her that she could very much enjoy sex.

His hands had pulled down her panties much more smoothly than Allan’s hands. Spike’s fingers had brushed against her gently and slipped carefully into her; he'd been delighted by the wetness he found. He hadn’t just rooted in and spread the slick around so his erection would have an easy time. In fact, he hadn’t even undone his trousers.

Spike’s fingers hadn’t made her dry the way Allan’s had if he stayed too long. Spike had touched her as if all he wanted was to make her happy, and he’d coaxed her into relaxing so she could enjoy his touch. Elizabeth hadn’t understood at first, that he wasn’t just preparing her for himself. But when his thumb had begun pressing and circling her clitoris while his fingers stroked inside her, Elizabeth had finally known what she’d been hungry for.

The hunger had left her breathless and tense as she’d pushed against him, clutching his shirt, pulling his mouth to her for searching, gasping kisses. Her first orgasm had burst through her and left her shaky. Spike had watched her, pleased. When she’d said, “But that wasn’t even sex!” he’d laughed.

“We can still have sex. There’s no rule against it,” he’d said.

They’d had sex, after Elizabeth had carefully removed her borrowed dress and watched Spike remove his tux. She’d enjoyed sex in her bed, where it was supposed to be, although Spike would have been happy to stay on the sofa. He’d given her a second, different orgasm that had built on the lingering affects of his expert arousal.

Eight months later Elizabeth was enjoying sex regularly, but she was also aware that her need for order and structure was limiting Spike. Their first night had been an anomaly for her. She wasn’t bold by nature and she wasn’t comfortable experimenting in the bedroom. The first time Spike had put his mouth between her legs she’d jumped and pushed his head away.

“You don’t have to,” she’d said. “I’m fine.”

“I want to.” He’d moved toward her and she’d sat up, stopping him.

“I know it’s disgusting. Don’t. I don’t want you to.” Elizabeth had blushed again and stumbled a little over the words.

She didn’t want him to do something unpleasant for her sake. He couldn’t make her understand that it wasn’t unpleasant and it wasn’t just for her sake. Allan had made sure that lesson was deeply ingrained.

Elizabeth had firm lines drawn between acceptable and unacceptable. Spike had shown her those lines, encouraged her reconsider them, but hadn’t forced her to step across them. Here, in this place, her firm lines were fading. That was the purpose for their holiday, to get away from familiarity and routine and free themselves to try new things. Free her to try new things. Spike said she needed, for her own sake, to let go of the oppressive rules by which she’d lived while under Allan’s influence.

Spike also said she needed to choose to let go of those rules, not to bend them in order to please him. “It’s time you did something for yourself, not because you think someone else wants it,” he said. “You’re not allowed to do what I want unless you want it too. That’s the only rule we have while on holiday.”

Elizabeth knew she was allowed to be bold with Spike. She knew she could take pleasure from him without feeling like she was being selfish. She just didn’t know how to stop the guilt, and the guilt kept her from being what Spike wanted her to be. What she wanted to be. She was caught in a spiral, like a nautilus shell without an opening. It was a wall she hadn’t built but that she would need to breach in order to be free.

==

“You’re overdressed.”

Elizabeth eyed him as she stated the obvious. Spike stretched out on the massive chaise lounge in the living room of their condo, champagne in hand and a smile on his face. He was still in long sleeves, trousers, and socks. Not to mention the shoes, on the furniture--strictly not allowed and he knew it. But they were on holiday, so rules be damned.

The champagne was a clear indication of Spike’s attitude. He’d arranged for champagne on ice, waiting for their arrival, as part of their welcome to the rented condo. Champagne at midday. The next week was going to be free from their orderly day-to-day life.

Elizabeth looked at him with the same mixture of interest and hesitation he’d seen on the night they’d met, at a library fundraiser he’d attended because he’d wanted to be seen among the right sort of people. She’d worn a dress that cried out for attention over a person who clearly didn’t want the attention she received. Her body language had been a study in conflict, and that had made him curious.

She’d put aside her hesitation and had gone with him for a drink, invited him to her apartment, and kissed him with surprising passion. When Elizabeth had finally expressed her doubts about sex, revealing her lack of experience as she did, Spike had reconnoitered. She’d become more interesting, more than a one-night fuck. Elizabeth had become his private experiment.

He’d never gotten close to a woman who’d been so thoroughly trained to serve the needs of others. It had begun early in her childhood--she was raised to be a servant for the rest of her family--and it had continued into her marriage. In the modern world he’d discovered a woman from a different time.

Elizabeth was a treasure trove of learned behaviors and repressed desires. She couldn’t even state her needs except in relation to his own, let alone consider her wants. She wasn’t sure she had the right to want anything for herself, even though she’d lived independently for several years. Once she accepted Spike into her routines, he immediately took precedence as long as he followed the rules. Elizabeth required rules, even when she hated them.

He’d studied her, tested her, learned her boundaries and her reasons for them. He’d noted her need for order and structure; he’d noted her small rebellions.

He’d grown to care for her.

He’d left off pursuing other women to focus on Elizabeth. He’d begun to encourage her rebellions. He’d hoped for a breakthrough, a throwing off of her restraints. He could see her, the unfettered Elizabeth wrestling against the weight of her chains. He just couldn’t make her see that she held the keys to her own padlocks. And so, this holiday.  

Spike knew his relationship with Elizabeth was at a tipping point. While he was self-centered in many ways, Spike couldn’t accept an affair that catered solely to his needs. He didn’t want a mistress, he wanted a partner. He loved strong women, independent women, not just fuckable women. And Elizabeth was so rule-bound they couldn’t even fuck freely. He was bored sexually and frustrated in general. He’d leave her soon if the holiday didn’t work.  

==

“You’re overdressed.”

Spike smiled at Elizabeth as she chastised him. She was already changed into a pastel floral sundress that lay lightly over her skin. Already barefoot and beach ready, with her glass of champagne barely touched. Spike tipped his half-empty glass in a mock-toast to her efficiency.

“Feel free to correct that,” he said. His smile challenged her as he took another leisurely sip of champagne. He tucked a pillow behind him and leaned against the angled backrest of the chaise, making it clear that he had no intention of doing anything about it for himself.

She frowned briefly as conflicting thoughts clashed in her mind, then downed her drink in quick gulps and shivered as the alcohol hit her system. After a few seconds, she set the glass determinedly on a side table and pulled off his shoes, tossing them a few feet away.

He would have bet money on that happening. But now what?

His socks were the next to go, with less haste as her hands slid them down and off his feet, fingers tickling his soles just enough that he suspected it was on purpose but couldn’t prove it. Her face gave him no hints as to her intentions.

Elizabeth took the champagne flute from Spike’s hand and set it next to hers on a side table. She knelt by him on the chaise lounge, then quickly straddled him. The move surprised Spike and he sat slightly forward in a kind of reflex. Elizabeth got the tail of his shirt and pulled it off him, turning it inside out as she did, demonstrating a casual disregard for proper laundry regulations that delighted them both.

She smiled when his unruly hair appeared as she tugged the shirt over his head. Spike tried to control the thick mass of dark brown hair, but it misbehaved at the slightest provocation. Elizabeth loved it precisely because he couldn’t control it. After he pulled his arms out of the shirt and she tossed it toward his socks and shoes, Elizabeth put both hands in his hair and mussed it even more, then smoothed it down again. She wanted to be unruly too, and not something Spike could control. She wanted to misbehave.

“Fluffy,” she murmured.

“That’s not a word you use for hair,” Spike countered.

She gave him a pretend threatening look. “Are you telling me what I can and can’t say?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Good. Because if you’re not careful, Fluffy might become your new nickname, Spencer.”

He winced at the thought and her use of his given name; she chuckled and pushed him back onto the chaise. She began to touch Spike’s body the way he touched hers, lingering along the curves of his broad shoulders and caressing the hollow at the base of his strong neck. She outlined the muscles of his torso and played with his nipples until they pulled up into bumpy circles. Her hands worked their way down his body, followed the center line of hair over his abs until they came to his navel and the curved, indented lines along his hipbones. The lines disappeared into his jeans. Her fingers played with his waistband as she decided what to do next.

Spike lay quietly, murmuring soft encouragements, telling her how good her hands felt on him, but making no move that might indicate his preferences. He saw the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat and felt the tension in her legs against his. She was poised, ready to jump up and retreat at the slightest protest, so he kept his opinions to himself.

Elizabeth got off the chaise lounge and held out a hand to him, then pulled him onto his feet.

“That’s better,” she said as she unfastened his jeans. Her face was flushed, her voice slightly triumphant, as if she’d already won a victory. She pushed the jeans down to his knees, where the tight legs stopped them from sliding easily, and turned her attention to Spike in his black boxer briefs. Damn! He looked good! She took a moment to admire him, a smile growing on her face as she told herself Spike was hers. Hers to control. Hers to possess. It was exhilarating.

“Take off your jeans,” she said.

Spike sat on the edge of the chaise and tugged his jeans off, then stood up again as he tossed them onto the pile of his clothes. He wasn’t smiling at Elizabeth any longer. His hazel brown eyes sparked green in the sunlight that poured through their floor-to-ceiling windows; he leaned toward her slightly as if drawn by a magnet. He wanted her and he wanted her to know it.

She slowly walked around him, hands wandering over his body: down his torso, across his back, over his firm backside, and down his muscular thighs. Those muscles would work hard for her before she was done with him. Elizabeth trembled as the thought flared in her mind like a beacon. Freedom didn’t seem like such a threat anymore.

She stopped in front of him and traced the v-lines of muscle from each hip down. Spike was a perfect physical specimen, excepting the unruly hair that made him human instead of Adonis.

She could see the lines through his underwear, the lines that aimed her attention toward the erection standing between them. She brushed her fingertips along Spike’s erection and he twitched. She jerked her hand back and looked up at him, instantly worried.

He put his hands on either side of her face to keep them from going places she hadn’t offered him, and he kissed her. He kissed her until he’d driven away the worry and replaced it with eagerness that matched his own. Only when he felt her hands in his underwear, pushing them out of the way, did he release her.

He whispered close to her ear, “Everything you’re doing is perfect. Brilliant. Please, don’t stop.”

His breath was ragged and he held himself tightly in check. He couldn’t believe how aroused he was by Elizabeth’s touch. He’d waited so long, wished and hoped for her to take control, ached for her hands on him, for her delicate, supple fingers to do what they were doing now. He closed his eyes and counted backward from 100 in 3’s in an attempt to calm himself. The precision of mathematics had always soothed him.

Elizabeth swallowed and nodded at his unsteady voice. She could tell she was affecting him. “They call these devil’s horns,” she said as she drew fingers down the indentations that fascinated her. She wrapped her hands around his erection, thumb caressing the plump head of his penis. “Not sure what to call this,” she added. “Fluffy won’t do. Is this the spike that earned you the nickname?”

“Call it whatever you want,” Spike said unevenly. “We’re adults, not teenagers in our first make-out session.”

“Penis. Erect penis. Very erect penis,” Elizabeth stifled a giggle. She kept her hands on his erection and kissed him just below one ear. She kissed down his neck and up the other side, nipping his earlobe playfully. Spike reached for her but she caught his hands. “Not yet.”

He held his arms at his sides, fists clenching. She kissed along his shoulder blades and down his chest, her hands moving along with her lips, stopping to play with each nipple before she moved around his body to his back. She massaged his shoulders lightly while she kissed the base of his neck and down his spine. Hands slid down to massage his backside and thighs, then moved around to find his erection, and his testicles pulled tight against his body. She tugged them gently.

“That’s how you do it, right? I’ve seen you. Does it feel good?”

“Yes, that’s how you do it. Not too hard. Like this.” Spike put his hand over hers and showed her. “But only at certain times, and not because it feels good. Because it slows me down. Other things feel better.”

She moved around to face him. “Like what? Show me.”

Spike took her hand and carefully moved her fingers over his testicles so she could feel the shape of them, telling her how they added to his sexual pleasure. Elizabeth knelt so she could see better, chewing her bottom lip as she studied this part of his anatomy she’d formerly avoided.

“They aren’t too sensitive? It doesn’t hurt when I touch them?”

“Depends on the touch,” Spike said. “Everyone is different.” She was adorable in her flowered sundress, full lip dimpled by the edge of her teeth as she absorbed her lesson. Adorable and sexy, and so close to touching him with those lips. Spike knew she’d do it if he asked. He would. not. ask.

Allan had demanded a blow job and she’d gagged and choked and finally refused. Elizabeth had told Spike the story. She was guilt-ridden, but justified her refusal because it had been selfish of Allan to demand something like that in the first place. Spike had agreed. Allan was a selfish ass. Spike wouldn’t be lumped into the same category, no matter how badly tempted.

Elizabeth fondled his testicles and discovered how much he liked it when she petted the line between them, from the base of his penis around to the back of his scrotum. She watched them move on their own as she played with them, getting used to the feel of them. They were odd-looking, but they were fun. She kissed each one, quick and soft, and Spike gasped.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Whatever Allan may have said, you don’t have to. Not for me.”

“I know. I’m playing.” She kissed the base of his penis, then up the shaft to the head. A bead of liquid slipped out, and she kissed it off the head of Spike’s penis. He made a pleasure noise in his throat. Elizabeth kissed the head again, with a little more sucking, and Spike pulled away.

“Tell me you’re still playing. Tell me this isn’t for me,” he demanded.

“I’m still playing. I want you to lie down so I can play some more.” She pointed to the chaise. Spike hesitated a moment, then obediently reclined on his back.

“I’m safe with you,” Elizabeth said as she joined him on the chaise lounge. “You won’t force me into anything I don’t want. So I can see for myself, what I like and don’t like. Oh!” She slapped her hand over her mouth and kept it there for a second. “Will you kiss me now? After that?”

“I’ll kiss you whenever you want.”

She grinned at him, relieved. “Good. That’s just how I like it.”

She settled across the chaise, her body over one of Spike’s legs, so she could kiss his penis and testicles more. She tested to see how much of him she could put in her mouth without gagging. She kissed and nibbled and sucked, while Spike held onto the cushioned cover of the chaise with both hands and did his best to answer her questions. When she asked if he liked what she was doing, the answer was always ‘yes.’ Sometimes it was ‘God, yes.’ Once it was ‘Fuck!’ which she took to mean an emphatic yes.

Finally Elizabeth had enough playing. She straddled Spike again and as she knelt over him, her pubic hair brushed against his erection. No undies! Her warm, wet, naked flesh settled on him until his penis was swathed by her labia.

“Surprise!” She rubbed against him, wetting the length of his erection. “Is this proof enough that I enjoyed playing with you?”

Spike nodded. “If you had any idea what you do to me…” He pushed up against her, unable to resist her slick heat.

Elizabeth pulled her sundress off and tossed it onto the pile of Spike’s clothes. She was wearing nothing else. “You can touch me now,” she said. “But help me get you in me. Guide me.”

She lifted herself off him and Spike held his penis up and rubbed it against her, teasing her with it. He smiled, a playful half-smile she adored, so she let him tease her until she began rocking gently with his motions. Her body had become hungry and hollow; she caught his erection and lowered herself onto him. His hand moved away so nothing kept her from pressing herself onto him as far as she could.

“So deep.” She shifted slightly until she found the best spot to have his whole erection in her. Still hungry but no longer hollow. “So deep. I like this!”

“So do I.” Spike put his hands on her hips and arched his body up, pushing even further in as her eyes started to shine. Then he moved his hands to her stomach and breasts, stroking and fondling her. He wanted to hold her tight and fuck her, drive up into her, grind her body against his. But more than that he wanted to make sure he didn’t control her. Not now. It was her turn, long overdue. He’d want her, crave her, need her until she was ready to give him release.

His fingers found her clitoris and he began to circle and press, keeping it wet and happy. Elizabeth lifted and settled, lifted and settled, experimenting. She began regular strokes, one hand on his chest and one on the chaise, eyes watching his face for signs of his pleasure. Spike joined her rhythm, body moving with her, fingers stroking her clitoris as he watched her smile and her shining eyes.

He bit his lip; a hand clutched her thigh; he pushed them faster, harder, his need driving ahead of hers. He came with a wordless exclamation as he heaved up, straining to bury himself deep in her body. He sank onto the chaise and tried to move again, but Elizabeth had stopped.

“You’re done,” she said.

“You’re not. Keep going.”

"You can--do that?" She began moving again, up and down, short, quick strokes. Her need drove them now.

“For a little bit. Long enough.” Spike focused on her nearing climax; his fingers quickened on her clitoris.

Her fingernails dug into his chest. “Close. Close!” She tensed, the tingling started, spread, became a 4th of July firework deep in her belly. A brilliant explosion, a cascade of sparks that lingered and gradually faded. She stopped moving, and this time Spike stopped as well. His erection was fading. He dropped his hand over the side of the chaise.

“I’m going to taste you on my fingers,” he said. “Will you kiss me, after?”

“I don’t know. I’ll kiss you now.” Elizabeth stretched out on the chaise next to him and kissed him, a deep, open-mouthed kiss. She turned onto her back. “Okay, I’m done.”

Spike sucked her taste from his fingers, making sure she knew he liked it. Elizabeth waited a minute, then turned to him, nodding to herself. She kissed him on the lips, closed mouths meeting. She kissed him again, longer. She kissed him and didn’t quit, and when they were finally done with the kiss, she sighed.

“That wasn’t disgusting,” she said. “None of it was disgusting.”

Elizabeth abruptly got off the chaise lounge and left the living room. She went through their bedroom to the spacious bathroom, clean and bright like the rest of the condo. No lights to turn off before getting undressed. No shadows to hide in. She was naked and Spike was naked, and she’d fucked him in front of huge windows for all the world to see. She’d fucked him until he couldn’t go any longer. She’d fucked him and he’d fucked her, good and proper. Weak-kneed and glowing with satisfaction, in broad daylight in the living room, on rented furniture someone else would have to clean.

She needed a little time to herself.

As she freshened up, Elizabeth cursed the mother who’d raised her to be a substitute for the parent she hadn’t wanted to be, a butler required to wait on others and enforce regulations. She cursed the husband who’d taken advantage of her servile upbringing and had engrained it more deeply into her being, until he’d become bored and left her for a woman with ‘spirit and personality.’

“Hah! Allan didn’t know what he was missing,” she muttered. “Jackass. Selfish, narrow-minded jackass!”   

Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror: tousled hair, flushed face, barely-visible tan lines. She needed Spike’s mouth on her body. She needed love bites to admire in the mirror. She cupped her breasts and teased her nipples, pleased with how quickly they responded. A hand moved down, over her belly and between her legs. Fingers explored newly-wet places. She tweaked her clitoris and her body hummed. She wanted Spike’s mouth there, too.

She heard Spike moving as she returned to the living room. He’d freshened up in the second bathroom. He was filling their champagne flutes. He came toward her, beautifully naked and smiling, and offered her a glass.

“I’d suggest a toast, but I’m not sure exactly to what,” he said.

She raised her glass. “To rules we choose and rules we choose to throw away.”

He nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”

She drank and set down her glass. “Ready for round two?”

His eyes lit up and a lopsided grin spread across his face. “What do you have in mind?”

Elizabeth stretched out on the chaise lounge and beckoned. “It’s my turn to lay back and let you do the work.”

He joined her on the chaise. “What work would you like?”

“I want your mouth on me.” She hesitated, then looked him in the eyes. “Everywhere.”

The lopsided grin returned. “Gladly.” Spike leaned in for a kiss, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Leave reminders,” she said. “I want to see where you’ve been.”

Frown lines appeared between Spike’s brows as he realized what she meant, then his face cleared and he nodded. “I can do that,” he said softly as he leaned toward her.

He nuzzled his nose along Elizabeth’s jawline and across her lips before bringing his mouth up to catch her lower lip in his teeth. He tugged gently, then brushed the tip of his tongue over her lip and slipped it into her mouth as he kissed her. He teased in her mouth with his tongue as his teeth grazed her lips. His kisses grew more intense, until he plunged into her, drew her tongue into him, held it in his teeth.

They’d kissed deeply before, but not like this. Spike was primal, as if he needed to devour her, as if he was only civilized when the rules required it. No rules while on holiday. Only that she got what she wanted. Elizabeth pulled him closer with an impatient tug on his side; she got a handful of his wavy, brown hair and held it like a good luck charm or a flag. A symbol of freedom, of anarchy. Unruly. Uncontrolled.

Spike broke away from her mouth and nipped her chin, then her neck. He bit her earlobe. “Give me a word,” he breathed into her ear.

She shivered at his warm breath.

“Give me a word,” he whispered as he nuzzled her ear. “Something you’ll say, when I’ve reached the limit. When pain is about to overtake the pleasure.”

“A word?” She struggled to focus. Her hand loosened in his hair. “Fluffy.”

He chuckled, a wicked sound. “That will do.” He left kiss-sized purple bruises and little red blotches down her neck. When he reached her shoulder, he bit harder, then sucked the bite mark into his mouth and dragged his teeth over it. She hummed, a deep, throaty hum like the purr of a satisfied cat. He kissed along her shoulder, biting again, harder, and again, harder still.

“Fluffy,” she murmured.

He kissed the bite softly and rested his cheek against it. He had a gauge now. He knew what she wanted and thankfully, it was within his comfort zone. He’d been briefly afraid that Elizabeth harbored destructive urges, the need to punish herself for loosening her restraints and breaking her rules. But his kisses and love bites weren’t punishment. She was asking him to give her proof that she had truly unlocked the chains that had burdened her for so long.

Spike peppered her body with marks as she hummed and whispered her pleasure. He added a light massage to his kisses and bites, his hands easing the sting as they increased her arousal. She used ‘Fluffy’ a few times and he immediately gave soft kisses to those spots. She turned with the smallest encouragement so he could reach the back of her neck, her shoulder blades, the small of her back. When he nipped her backside she jumped and stiffened.

“When I said everywhere I didn’t mean everywhere,” she said over her shoulder.

“Noted.” He kissed the soft curve of one cheek. “So, no ass-kissing?”

“A little ass-kissing. Just don’t get lost back there.”

Spike chose discretion over daring and soon turned his attention elsewhere. When he rolled her over again his head was conveniently between her legs. He kissed her inner thighs, nibbled gently, and finally reached his long-sought goal. He tickled his nose in her pubic hair--curling from the moisture of her arousal--and breathed in her scent. He wondered if she would protest or grow tense from the old worry.  

“No Fluffy in that area.” Her quiet voice gave nothing away, but Spike noticed her regulated breathing and realized Elizabeth was intentionally calming herself.

“I’ll be careful.” He inhaled. “You smell delicious,” he added. He saw her hands relax slightly. They had been clutching the chaise.

Spike settled between her legs and began to play, letting his mouth tell Elizabeth how much he enjoyed her. He took his time and made sure all of her sensitive areas were well-tended, judging his success by her swollen labia as well as her clitoris, by the wetness she created and her arching back. His long, slender fingers stroked inside her, finding her g-spot with practiced skill. As she shifted and rocked, her hands rumpled his hair and clutched his shoulders.

He took her into a long, sweet orgasm that left her gasping, and then he took her into another one. Or maybe it was the same one, rising and falling like the tides and she, in her nautilus shell, open at last, rising and falling with it. Pleasure so intense she couldn’t stand it, pleasure that couldn’t last but did, until she had to push Spike away.

“Fluffy,” she muttered. “Please. Enough.”

Spike lifted his head, alarmed. “I hurt you?”

“No. Feels too good.” She took deep, shuddering breaths.

He smiled and kissed her clitoris. “It’s supposed to feel good.”

“Just--give me a sec.”

Spike waited, brushing his fingers through her pubic curls. Gingerly he lowered his head and kissed her clitoris again, sucking gently. She hummed deep in her throat again, a pleasure noise he accepted as permission to continue. In a few moments she was twisting with another climax. On and on, with pauses between to rest her senses, until finally she tugged weakly on his hair.

“Enough.”

Spike nodded and moved away from her, glancing at her spent, lax form as he sat up. Dewed with sweat, tremors subsiding, eyelids dropped over unseeing eyes. She may have forgotten he existed, may be sinking into a contented doze.

He turned his back to her and used his discarded shirt to wipe his face and hands. He dropped the shirt to the floor and looked down at his erect penis. He could go again. He could absolutely go again. Wearing her smell only made it worse. Seeing her spread out on the chaise with dark damp hair and moist pink flesh exposed brought his need into sharp focus. It would be easy, and she wouldn’t protest. She’d say it was his turn.

He shook his head. Delayed gratification. His Pavlovian response to Elizabeth’s arousal--no, it was more than learned behavior, what he felt was instinctive, mindless--would have no reward. He reclined next to her. The love bites had faded from sharp reds and purples to duller colors that would last a few days.

Spike pulled a stray strand of hair from her temple and smoothed it back. Elizabeth opened her eyes at his touch. They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments.

“Hey.” She was relaxed; the word hung lazily in the air.

He smiled. “Hey.”

She smiled back at him. “Fuck the rules.”

“Is that your new motto?”

“Yes. I’ll do a cross-stitch and hang it in the living room.” She sighed, a deep, contented sigh, and shifted her body closer to his. Her hip rubbed against his erection. She rubbed it again, intentionally. “You’ve done so much. Would it be awful to ask for a good. old-fashioned, missionary-position fuck?”

He was surprised. “You’re not satisfied?”

“Supremely satisfied. But you’ve shown me that I shouldn’t limit myself.”

“You’re not just saying that? You’re not doing it for me?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I want your dick. Now.”

His welcome weight on her sensitive body and the press of his erection into her started the warmth in her belly that spread with each of his thrusts. Energized, she put her arms around him; fingernails raked his back and dug into his backside. He cursed and bit her ear, then her lip as they kissed. She dug in deeper, pushing him to go harder, faster. Spike bet she was leaving bruises.

She shook with her climax but urged him on until he slammed into her and shook with his. They collapsed, panting, and Spike drug himself partway off of her and lay on his stomach.

“Am I bloodied?” he asked.

She raised up and looked. “A little.”

“Bruised?”

She nodded. “Some.”

“Fair play.” He turned on his side and touched the marks on her neck. “You won’t be able to hide those.”

“Don’t care.” She smiled. “I think I need a nap.”

“Me too.”

They made themselves comfortable together on the massive chaise lounge, in front of floor-to-ceiling windows and sunlight and palm trees. Sweaty, naked bodies and half-drunk champagne in a bucket of melting ice meant nothing. Discarded clothes could wait. A little anarchy, Elizabeth decided as she drifted into sleep, was a very good thing.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a Damien Molony fan. I got to see 'The Hard Problem' several times and have been fascinated with the character of Spike as portrayed by Damien in the play. Thanks to the Damien Molony Forum (seriously, you should check it out!) and member discussions, the play and Spike have remained fresh in my mind.   
> Spike represents 'carnal man' in the play, but the character is nuanced enough that we can believe there is much more to him. That makes Spike the perfect character for fanfiction!


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